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The Correct Spelling and Exact Meaning
Richard Jones’s seventh book is the work of an artist whose intense commitment to poetic craft is matched by his extraordinary capacity to witness and chronicle the details of domestic life and assert that there are “cherubim lingering by the illuminated / bins of produce, / seraphim protecting the fish sticks / in the frozen-food section.” Jones says: “I trust language. I want to be clear. I believe poetry is a ‘temple of words.’ I try to keep it spare and elemental.” This transformative belief in “the correct spelling and exact meaning” of the world and the word resounds in the pages of this book—a luminous hosanna to the paradoxes and pleasures of existence, a hymn of our desires for redemption and salvation.
- GenresPoetry
96 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2010
16 people want to read
About the author
Richard Jones
23 books3 followersRichard Jones was born in London and educated at the University of Virginia. His first book of poetry, Country of Air (Copper Canyon Press, 1986), won the Posner Award from the Council for Wisconsin Writers. He published At Last We Enter Paradise in 1991 and Perfect Time in 1994.
Jones has edited Poetry East since 1979 and has edited two critical anthologies Poetry and Politics and Of Solitude and Silence: Writings on Robert Bly. He is a professor at DePaul University in Chicago.
Jones has edited Poetry East since 1979 and has edited two critical anthologies Poetry and Politics and Of Solitude and Silence: Writings on Robert Bly. He is a professor at DePaul University in Chicago.
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
November 18, 2011
I'm just amazed at how much other people like this book. I must be in a terrible sourpuss mood.
Excerpts:
When I went home to visit my sister
in the stone house by the river,
I couldn't sleep, and so I rose early,
before dawn, and entered the quiet
temple of the living room to sit
in simple meditation. Palms up,
legs crossed, shoulders squared,
I took a minute to relax my body,
then began to count slow breaths,
attentive to the task of emptying
the merest thought from the mind,
as if sweeping cobwebs from corners.
Moment by moment my heart grew
calm. The windows filled with light
and birdsong announced the morning. . . .
Sweeping cobwebs from corners! Isn't there a more original way to talk about emptying "the merest thought" from the mind?
"Birdsong announced the morning. . . . "
Later in the poem:
Then I heard the soft yet distinct
notes of a distant trumpet.
I did not move, or open my eyes,
but only listened—-yes, a trumpet.
The soaring notes entered my being.
My first thought was of angels on high—
the Lord coming on clouds of glory.
The soaring notes entered my being????
angels on high?
From "The Seeds of Sorrow"
"it's bliss to wander
hand in hand
with my little daughter
through the summer-glad garden. . . ."
It would pain me to go on.
Excerpts:
When I went home to visit my sister
in the stone house by the river,
I couldn't sleep, and so I rose early,
before dawn, and entered the quiet
temple of the living room to sit
in simple meditation. Palms up,
legs crossed, shoulders squared,
I took a minute to relax my body,
then began to count slow breaths,
attentive to the task of emptying
the merest thought from the mind,
as if sweeping cobwebs from corners.
Moment by moment my heart grew
calm. The windows filled with light
and birdsong announced the morning. . . .
Sweeping cobwebs from corners! Isn't there a more original way to talk about emptying "the merest thought" from the mind?
"Birdsong announced the morning. . . . "
Later in the poem:
Then I heard the soft yet distinct
notes of a distant trumpet.
I did not move, or open my eyes,
but only listened—-yes, a trumpet.
The soaring notes entered my being.
My first thought was of angels on high—
the Lord coming on clouds of glory.
The soaring notes entered my being????
angels on high?
From "The Seeds of Sorrow"
"it's bliss to wander
hand in hand
with my little daughter
through the summer-glad garden. . . ."
It would pain me to go on.
September 15, 2010
Great book of poems about:
--reading, even reading the dicionary
--words, their precise meanings & origins
--punctuation--no, really! Done with humor & grace.
--life, death, kids, love, loss (you know, the big/small/real stuff)
Jones is a wonderful poet, not flashy, always using straightforward language to say quietly amazing things.
--reading, even reading the dicionary
--words, their precise meanings & origins
--punctuation--no, really! Done with humor & grace.
--life, death, kids, love, loss (you know, the big/small/real stuff)
Jones is a wonderful poet, not flashy, always using straightforward language to say quietly amazing things.
May 19, 2014
I rarely find titles from Copper Canyon that I actively dislike. Disagree with? Sure, but I typically see the merit in their books even if I don't particularly *like* them.
This collection, though... I just found the poems to be dull. As pointed out by other reviews, there are more than a few clichés evident. The subject matter of much of the book revolves around faith, family, aging - subjects that can be full and challenging. They just aren't, here, though. There are a lot of surfaces and very little depth.
I have to say, too, that the narrator of these poems does not come across as a particularly likeable person. While that most likely would not affect my judgment of a more challenging collection, I have to admit that it came into play more than I would care to admit. (There was a particularly galling comment early in the collection that kind of set me in opposition to the poet though I tried not to let it get to me.)
This collection, though... I just found the poems to be dull. As pointed out by other reviews, there are more than a few clichés evident. The subject matter of much of the book revolves around faith, family, aging - subjects that can be full and challenging. They just aren't, here, though. There are a lot of surfaces and very little depth.
I have to say, too, that the narrator of these poems does not come across as a particularly likeable person. While that most likely would not affect my judgment of a more challenging collection, I have to admit that it came into play more than I would care to admit. (There was a particularly galling comment early in the collection that kind of set me in opposition to the poet though I tried not to let it get to me.)
June 20, 2012
My essential bias against Christian/faith references made it more difficult for me to enjoy this collection than would have otherwise been the case. There were moments, however, since Jones is a good storyteller poet. E.g., "I like this moment when there is nothing / more I need to do,/ when I have emptied everything on the conveyor--/ eggs, bread apples, and some chocolate/ I will give my children after homework--/ and I am free to study/ the checkout lady's red face/ ever so slightly gasping for air,/ the quick hands of the teenage boy/ distractedly bagging groceries,/ and the lady behind me so tiny/ she stands on tiptoes to empty her cart."
April 13, 2016
Richard Jones has become my newest favorite poet (and yes, that happened before I learned that he got his BA and MA from my University!). This collection is accessible and emotionally and intellectually stunning.
March 27, 2020
Accessible and enjoyable poetry. I enjoyed Jones's subjects (family life, in particular, which is refreshing from a man) and poetic view. Not one of the more complex reads, but enjoyable.
February 3, 2020
This is a very prosy poet, and for me, poetry needs to sing rather than talk. He has some lovely ideas and analogies, but I wanted more from the language.
October 6, 2018
I chanced upon Richard in a 2005 anthology "New American Poetry." Those several poems, from his first book "The Country of Air" were much bleaker, which I am disposed to, if done right. He is a minimalist, after Rilke and Zen poets whom he has translated./ These new poems are more concerned with the joy of life, especially the joy found in his little children, but they are never maudlin or syrupy. Beneath the joy is an underlying sense of happiness' transience and of life's transience. / There are also many references to Christianity and Eastern religions; it is hard to tell if he is formally devoted to any religion or if he extracts wisdom and guidance from sacred texts on a personal basis, as a writer./ Technically, he is a master, the physically slight words weighing more than they appear. I can see many drafts in certain poems, though others seem somewhat more spontaneous. "Correct Spelling" comes off as inspirational literature; I usually read very early in the morning, a time especially appropriate for this kind of poetry. Warm humor offsets the pithy profundity.
September 6, 2013
Richard Jones is pretty upfront about his Christian faith - explicitly, its mythos informs his perspective and poetic gaze, but it also implicitly informs the less poetic theme of contented domesticity which appears with alarming frequency in this collection. As a childless young adult, I guess it's unfair to criticize him for this, but I just don't see any blinding insight into the human condition in poems like "At Last", which describes a typical bedtime routine for him and his children in paragraph form. To me, these family-oriented poems have a faint scent of smugness - "I have seen this madly tilting planet of ours and found what's TRULY important", they seem to say. And perhaps there are still interesting things for middle-aged white guys to say about family, but it was slightly disappointing to see that he seems to have fallen prey to the Christian church's family-first paradigm. I mean, if happiness were that simple, why would we need poetry?
Luckily for the reader, Richard Jones isn't SO content with familial duties and reflections that he can't find room for ambiguity and isolated moments of beauty, and it's here that his other religious influence - Buddhism - becomes more apparent. I think if there were an overarching theme to this collection, it would be the omnipresent holiness of the mundane. There are ghosts in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store, prayers are left on paper napkins under dirty diner plates like the Wailing Wall, and text messages have the potential for the striking brevity of a haiku. Both Richard Jones and this book's publisher, Copper Canyon Press, profess to an understanding of poetry as "a temple of words", and the shrine here is a humble one, for the most part. Of course, there's a difference between showing us that this is the case and telling us, and some of the poems settle for gesturing towards a shrine I just don't see. When he describes the beauty of a tiny dustdevil of garbage, for example, the "poetic insight" is so bluntly obvious that I'm waiting for a second layer to be revealed - it never happens. Poems like this, along with a few less-than-humble praise-poems on the act of writing itself come across as misguided or just plan lazy, but I think he hits the mark more often than he misses. Hence - 3 stars.
Luckily for the reader, Richard Jones isn't SO content with familial duties and reflections that he can't find room for ambiguity and isolated moments of beauty, and it's here that his other religious influence - Buddhism - becomes more apparent. I think if there were an overarching theme to this collection, it would be the omnipresent holiness of the mundane. There are ghosts in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store, prayers are left on paper napkins under dirty diner plates like the Wailing Wall, and text messages have the potential for the striking brevity of a haiku. Both Richard Jones and this book's publisher, Copper Canyon Press, profess to an understanding of poetry as "a temple of words", and the shrine here is a humble one, for the most part. Of course, there's a difference between showing us that this is the case and telling us, and some of the poems settle for gesturing towards a shrine I just don't see. When he describes the beauty of a tiny dustdevil of garbage, for example, the "poetic insight" is so bluntly obvious that I'm waiting for a second layer to be revealed - it never happens. Poems like this, along with a few less-than-humble praise-poems on the act of writing itself come across as misguided or just plan lazy, but I think he hits the mark more often than he misses. Hence - 3 stars.
May 8, 2017
Richard Jones is pretty upfront about his Christian faith - explicitly, its mythos informs his perspective and poetic gaze, but it also implicitly informs the less poetic theme of contented domesticity which appears with alarming frequency in this collection. As a childless young adult, I guess it's unfair to criticize him for this, but I just don't see any blinding insight into the human condition in poems like "At Last", which describes a typical bedtime routine for him and his children in paragraph form. To me, these family-oriented poems have a faint scent of smugness - "I have seen this madly tilting planet of ours and found what's TRULY important", they seem to say. And perhaps there are still interesting things for middle-aged white guys to say about family, but it was slightly disappointing to see that he seems to have fallen prey to the Christian church's family-first paradigm. I mean, if happiness were that simple, why would we need poetry?
Luckily for the reader, Richard Jones isn't SO content with familial duties and reflections that he can't find room for ambiguity and isolated moments of beauty, and it's here that his other religious influence - Buddhism - becomes more apparent. I think if there were an overarching theme to this collection, it would be the omnipresent holiness of the mundane. There are ghosts in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store, prayers are left on paper napkins under dirty diner plates like the Wailing Wall, and text messages have the potential for the striking brevity of a haiku. Both Richard Jones and this book's publisher, Copper Canyon Press, profess to an understanding of poetry as "a temple of words", and the shrine here is a humble one, for the most part. Of course, there's a difference between showing us that this is the case and telling us, and some of the poems settle for gesturing towards a shrine I just don't see. When he describes the beauty of a tiny dustdevil of garbage, for example, the "poetic insight" is so bluntly obvious that I'm waiting for a second layer to be revealed - it never happens. Poems like this, along with a few less-than-humble praise-poems on the act of writing itself come across as misguided or just plan lazy, but I think he hits the mark more often than he misses. Hence - 3 stars.
Luckily for the reader, Richard Jones isn't SO content with familial duties and reflections that he can't find room for ambiguity and isolated moments of beauty, and it's here that his other religious influence - Buddhism - becomes more apparent. I think if there were an overarching theme to this collection, it would be the omnipresent holiness of the mundane. There are ghosts in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store, prayers are left on paper napkins under dirty diner plates like the Wailing Wall, and text messages have the potential for the striking brevity of a haiku. Both Richard Jones and this book's publisher, Copper Canyon Press, profess to an understanding of poetry as "a temple of words", and the shrine here is a humble one, for the most part. Of course, there's a difference between showing us that this is the case and telling us, and some of the poems settle for gesturing towards a shrine I just don't see. When he describes the beauty of a tiny dustdevil of garbage, for example, the "poetic insight" is so bluntly obvious that I'm waiting for a second layer to be revealed - it never happens. Poems like this, along with a few less-than-humble praise-poems on the act of writing itself come across as misguided or just plan lazy, but I think he hits the mark more often than he misses. Hence - 3 stars.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews